


The Devolution of Philosophical Conversations

by Amuly



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Drunkenness, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Nerdiness, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-07
Updated: 2011-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a response to this prompt on the <a href="http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/"><b>1stclass_kink</b></a><br/><a href="http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/806.html?thread=27174#t27174"></a><br/><i></i><br/><span>During one of their late-night philosophical discussion sessions, after a glass or two of scotch, Charles inadvertently finds himself using part of his university-bar pickup speech on Erik. Erik calls him on it.</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devolution of Philosophical Conversations

 

Charles slumped back into his armchair, head feeling warm and happy after the move he had just made. Or perhaps it was the scotch moving its way through his system making him feel that way. Or maybe it was the handsome, brilliant, broken young man sitting just on the other side of the chessboard from Charles. A sober Charles might have been disconcerted by how much he had been studying Erik's form over the past weeks as they had gotten to know each other. Then again, a (sometimes) sober Charles had also attended to Oxford, and it wasn't like “Oxford Style” got its name from some _other_ Oxford.

As it was, Charles was _not_ sober. He wasn't roaringly drunk, but he could feel his inhibitions slipping away along with his mental shields; his thoughts turning more lusty as the warm lull of Erik's thoughts pressed against his mind.

“Charles?”

Snapping to attention, Charles ignored the way Erik was smiling indulgently at him. “Right, my move, is it?”

“Perhaps we should retire,” Erik suggested, already rising from his chair. “I think your mind would best be served by rest at this point than trying to continue on with the game.”

“Nonsense,” Charles protested. With a casual waved of his hand he gestured for Erik to sit back down, which he did after a moment's reluctance.

“If you fall asleep again I'm changing the board,” Erik teased.

“If you do _that_ , I'll know as soon as I wake up,” Charles fired back. His not-so-sober eyes were trained on the chessboard, pretending to be interested in his next move. Really, the majority of his attention was focused on the warm ball of contentment he was picking up from Erik at the moment. Normally he wouldn't be quite so crass – at least, not with a friend – as to spy on their emotional state. But Charles couldn't quite remember why such an act was an invasion of privacy at the moment, and he _certainly_ couldn't figure out why it would be so to Erik. This was Erik, after all: the man he knew everything about; his equal in a world otherwise occupied by shadowy half-men.

Moving a pawn carelessly forward, Charles leaned back again, hands threading lightly over his lap. In counter to him, Erik leaned forward, towards the board. His hair was loosened from the slick he normally used to keep it back, and small tendrils of it were falling in his eyes. The hotel was quiet, this late at night: the revelers wouldn't be out for two more days, and all the businessmen and women had long since gone to bed. Charles could feel their minds, too: brushing against his consciousness with their dreams, like a gentle sigh. But none of them compared to the ball of light veritably shining at him out of Erik's mind.

“Check mate in three,” Erik announced. Charles frowned and glanced at the board, but couldn't bring it in himself to find a way out of Erik's clutches. His mind hummed at the thought: _No. No reason to ever want to escape Erik_. The man himself was still talking, grinning at Charles from the comfort of his own armchair. The smile might have been vicious – too much teeth, like a shark – if Charles couldn't sense the happiness underlying Erik's every action this evening. “What was it you were saying earlier about your mutation giving you an eidetic memory? I would have thought such a skill meant you might have recognized my maneuvers.”

Charles hadn't been really paying attention to Erik's words, but rather to his cadence as he spoke. Then that one word,  _mutation_ , jumped out at Charles, and an idea gripped his mind. “Do you know what mutations you have, Erik?” When Erik just raised his eyebrows at Charles, disbelief obvious in his face if Charles couldn't also feel it in his mind, Charles waved a sloppy hand. “No, no: besides the obvious.” Warming up to his normal rhythm when it came to this, Charles leaned forward in his chair, toward Erik. His hair flopped into his eyes and he made no move to push it aside as he peered up at Erik from bright blue eyes. “You and I actually have the same genetic mutation, my friend: and it's  _still_ not the one you're thinking of. You see, earlobes-”

“Charles.”

Blinking, Charles' mouth open and closed once before speaking. “What- what? I was just explaining-”

Before Charles could really register what was happening, Erik was standing next to him – towering over him, really. One large – _very large, must think about that later_ – hand pressed down onto Charles' shoulder as Erik smiled down at him. Blinking once, twice, Charles wavered in his resolve to finish his explanation, body mimicking his mind by wavering in his seat quite noticeably. “Erik. What- What are you-”

“My friend.” Erik crouched, leaning in close to Charles' ear so that he could feel Erik's warm breath ghosting over his skin and through his hair, much like the warm happiness that had been rolling off Erik in waves all evening. “I think you should stop trying to pick me up like one of your university girls and go to bed.”

Charles' breath was shaky on the exhale, trembling like a virgin's thighs. “I... I wasn't...”

“Charles.” Erik's hands were sure as they maneuvered Charles to his feet and his bed. “Why don't we talk about why you don't need to use such lines on me when you're a sight more sober?”

Somewhere in the back of his mind – or more accurately, at the front of Erik's – Charles had a flash of lips against lips, skin against skin, sweating, panting thrusts heading toward an exquisite conclusion. Even as tipsy as he was, Charles could recognize those images. “Oh,” he breathed.

As Charles found himself sprawled onto his bed, shoes being dragged off and belt undone almost impersonally by Erik, he felt the room list slightly to the side as the alcohol worked further on his brain. “Oh,” he grumbled, less breathless awe at Erik's mind and more disappointment with how the room just wouldn't stop spinning, even as his eyes slid shut.

The last thing Charles heard before falling asleep was Erik's answering whisper, up against his ear: “Yes.”

 


End file.
